Witchdoctor
by thirteen's vodka
Summary: AU; set after Season 9 of Criminal Minds. Alex Blake meets a figure from her distant past when she's on a cab home. Triggering topics involved.


**A/N: This is so weird, just like my imagination is. Oh, there's a buttload of angst, and mentions of depressive and suicidal thoughts.**

 **I don't own Criminal Minds or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.**

She barely manages to catch a glimpse and has to blink several times before taking in the sight she caught. Already, she stops the cab, pays the driver with a $50 bill—though he protested as she was leaving no where near her home in the middle of the night—and heads out to pursue her curiosity. "Oh dear Lord," she mutters to herself, tugging her coat tighter when a cold breeze whisks by.

 _Please tell me this is not what I think this is._

The mantra repeats in her head over and over again as if she could chant whatever the hell was going on to disappear. She isn't ready to deal with the past again, even as an FBI Agent. Just officially resigned (well, there's still some paperwork to do when she gets back home), she doesn't want another wave of flashbacks to attack her. Still, she already chose to see what was happening, maybe just to make sure it isn't her mind being a douche to her again.

She treads quietly into the alleyway as she fishes out a handy flashlight in her purse and shines it into the night. The light fans out with a decent distance, and her eyes analyse whatever the flashlight could cover. Fast food wrappers fly by, escaping a nearby rusting dumpster producing unpleasant fumes. Filled cardboard boxes lay sporadically; a few have been knocked over, spilling its contents. A faint trail of rainwater hasn't dried off since the storm three days ago, but there's also a splash pattern moving forward. The pattern eventually becomes a set of shoeprints when she points her flashlight to the anomaly.

 _There's a lot of personal belongings inside those boxes,_ she ponders to herself when she analyses more of the details. _A homeless, poverty-stricken person must be living around this area, but those shoeprints are from a pair of Gucci's. Unless stolen, someone must be chasing, threatening them. The potential victim took off without their backpack, which was discovered carelessly thrown in the dumpster. They must be weighed down with it, which means that the potential unsub must be a very swift person or the victim is very slow. The victim could also be weakened._

A scream interrupts the former FBI Agent's observations. From the echoing, she concludes the destination not far from her location. Darting the flashlight with a death grip forward, she dashes while slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. The cry for help gives her a rush of adrenaline, gifting her with a temporary speed boost. Her footfalls are loud as she splashes puddles, but she doesn't care anymore. She thinks about calling 911, but the thought quickly dissapates when she realises she had no clue where she's going.

"SOMEBODY, PLEASE, HELP ME!"

This one's louder. She speeds, following the echoing of the shriek. "Oh, hell," she curses. Seeing as no one was around, the former FBI Agent focuses on the psychic energy of the pathway and discovers the one thing she had dreaded the most. _Vampires. Goddammit._

In a blink of an eye, she teleports to the scene and finds the victim surrounded by three female vamps. One has her on a chokehold while the other two eye her hungrily. Their attention's focused on their _meal_ so much they didn't even sense the brunette eyeing them with a plan for a sneak attack.

Of course, it would've been advanced and taken care of until a male vampire comes in and blitz attacks the female vampire holding the victim. All the brunette could see from her view are flashes blonde hair from both fighters until the male one finally pins her down and jabs her with a stake. In the corner of her eye, she catches the other two vampires attempting to sneak up on him and waves her head to throw them into the dumpster.

The male vampire, with his ridiculous platinum blonde hair, whips his head up and swing his stake around to see his saviour coming out of the shadows. "Aye, Witchdoctor, is that you?"

His familiar accent makes the woman realise. "Oh, _it's_ you." She's about to teleport back home when—

"The hell you running away from me again? The poof and the dark slayer need the Witchdoctor and her damn witchy-magicky powers for something more useful than just saving me!"

She sighs, slight irritation bubbling in her. "Spike, for the last damn time, stop calling me that!"

"Oh, bloody hell, I'll call you whatever I want, _Dr. Alex Blake_ ," Spike shoots back. "By the way, why aren't with your FBI pals back at the BAU? Last I checked, you disappeared on us with a letter saying how you just went back to the place that betrayed you in the first place."

"Shut up, Spike!" Her blood is boiling.

The vampire scoffs. "You flippin left them blokes in the dust, didn't you? You always runaway when things get too tough on you. Alex Blake, you're one bloody, filthy _coward!_ "

"I said _SHUT UP!_ " The contained fury in her snaps, and a wave of blinding psychic energy blasts Spike through the wall of an abandoned building.

 _Oh my God._ "Spike!" she calls out as she steps through the aftermath of the accidental attack. Worry replaces her anger as she shines her flashlight at the barely conscious vampire. "How bad does it hurt?"

"I've been through hella worse." He attempts to stand up, but hisses at the white-hot pain of his abdomen, having just pulled out a metal rod that drove through halfway. Blake gasps but doesn't eye the stab wound for long; she extends a hand a bit hesitantly and hefts the vampire up without consent.

She stifles a sly laugh when she hears a string of curses bellowing from him. "Oh, you're just whining, Spike." The brunette hovers her hand over the bleeding injury, a calmer psychic energy emitting from the hand and healing the abdomen completely. He groans in annoyance and a bit of pain, rolling his eyes at her to be shot back with a harsh glare.

"No, you're just as annoying as the last time I heard from you," he deadpans after mustering up what's left of his shattered ego. He retrieves a cigarette pack from one of the pockets on his leather duster and a lighter on another one. "You want one?"

Blake politely declines, giving him another cold look when he's about to insult her and watches as he swallows the words instead.

"Suit yourself." He has his index and middle fingers form a V to hold the cigarette and flicks his lighter on with his other hand to the butt. He takes a long drag, sucking in the smoke and breathing it out with no effect hazing on him.

The linguist unintentionally stares, but it's only just to read through his mind. The vampire notices almost immediately.

"Oy, that's my privacy you're invading!"

 _Your aura is off, way off, so you're lying about something that involves me._

"Stop that, Witchdoctor!"

 _Ugh, you're unbelievable._

"Fred's alive!"

"What?"

Blake's mouth hangs open, speechless at the honesty that laced in Spike's confession. It isn't a lie just to throw her off. She could sense it with his aura as well.

"Impossible." It's a word that slips out of her mouth before she could think, _realise_ , the information brought forth to her. Is she in denial? Hard to tell. "No, I-I"—she bites back a sob—"How, exactly?"

Spike lets out a huff that he'd probably held for a while. This is _not_ going to be easy, though is it ever? "Illyria sacrificed herself to save the world from ending." Oh, of course. "Fred was ressurected after some 'reset' that happened, but Illyria is still inside her body and comes out in brief bits here and there."

 _She's alive._

It's a thought that inhabits Blake's mind for a mere moment before she's interrupted by the billowy puffs of smoke Spike exhales from another drag. She wants to chide at him, but she doesn't. The linguist is too dozed off from the shock of her former lover's current status to carry out a witty but irritated comeback at the platinum blonde vampire.

"I'm still not going back." She means it; her eyes can tell Spike so.

The former poet throws his hands halfway up in the air lazily. "You're total crap."

Another glare is thrown back at him. It's the only face Spike knows now, given that he doesn't flinch or grimace. Yet they're still friends, are they?

Depends.

"Okay, what am I supposed to do then, Spike?" Her voice is suddenly but subtly quivering, the first sign of her vulnerability since they've encountered each other. "I didn't exactly leave Illyria and the others in a gleeful manner. Hell, I didn't just leave them, it's like I escaped prison when I first interpreted it!"

"I cared about you!"

"You cared about the Shanshu prophecy."

"I'm sorry!"

"Well, you're 9 years late on that damn apology, Spike."

"You didn't even give me a chance to!"

"Fred was the only person I truly loved and trusted!" Her tears are starting to show. It stings her eyes. " _Is_ the only person I ever..."

Her feet fail to carry the weight of her emotions as she falls to her knees. The salty liquid produced through her tear ducts run, branching throughout her reddened cheeks and nose. Her head droops wearily, and her hands cup the dismal features of her face. It's a sight she's ashamed of, though not of concern for her self-esteem. Well, maybe only for Spike, though.

"I've lost too much," she mumurs. Her breathing staggers, trying to stabalise, "too much from this world. Both worlds."

"Don't you dare say—"

"I want to die." A pause. "I want to kill myself."

This time, it's Spike's turn to corner Blake. He has her pinned to a wall with a twisted anger in his face before they both realise their situation. However, he doesn't let her go easily.

"You don't mean that." His cold hand is tight around her neck.

She takes advantage of her telekinesis, lifting the vampire inches off the floor and releasing herself from his chokehold. This time, she has more control of her emotions, but she could also feel Spike's raging throughout in his aura. So when she throws him across the dust-filled room to a set of crates, she doesn't go up to him again because she doesn't feel _sorry_ for him.

"I should go." Her breaths are grounded. "I should if you are to live. You're not going die because I'm having a moody day."

Before Spike even twitches a finger, she's teleported away.

* * *

Alex does not go home.

 _Home._ Does she even know where home is? It isn't anywhere near the BAU, even though she's tried to convince herself for the time she spent here.

But she's here now. At the doorsteps of Spencer Reid's apartment yet again. She wonders if she's truly doing something right, something worth the trouble. Certainly, she didn't want to do anything with Spike or Angel or any others. Even Fred.

Oh, dear Fred. Her sweet Fred.

"Alex?" Spencer.

"I changed my mind. I made a mistake." She couldn't handle herself anymore. "I-I'm sorry, Spence."

Before the young genius could answer, the older linguist throws herself to him in a deep, warm embrace, despite knowing his feelings for them. A smile creeps up her face when she feels his arms wrap tighter around her. She's never felt this relieved in years. It's good.

Maybe one day she could go back. Back to home. Wherever that might be.


End file.
